


The "Why We Fight" Critiques

by Limulus



Series: The Axanar Critiques [3]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Axanar, Essays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limulus/pseuds/Limulus
Summary: This work was originally posted on http://axanarsporking.wordpress.com/ in the spring of 2018. It is archived here for easy access.This work is part of a critical analysis of the Star Trek fan film script, "Axanar," and some of the adjacent works.  Specifically, this is a critique of the "Axanar"-inspired short story "Why We Fight," by Jonathan Lane.  For context, see axamonitor.com.These critiques are solely for the interest of Star Trek fan film fans.  I claim no copyright on them in the spirit of free discussion.





	1. "Why We Fight" (p 1)

I had to really think about whether or not to go ahead with the critique of [_Axanar_ ’s first short story](https://fanfilmfactor.com/2018/02/28/why-we-fight-the-first-ever-axanar-illustrated-short-story/\).).  After all, it doesn’t hold as much interest for Trek fan film fans as a [script at the center of a multi-million dollar copyright lawsuit](http://axamonitor.com/doku.php?id=locked_script&s%5B%5D=script).  Additionally, as fan fiction, it’s an amateur piece written for fun, which makes any critique feel a bit mean-spirited.

But I have a black diamond where my heart should be, and we can learn just as much from fan fiction as from Shakespeare.  (As I have very little background in art, I cannot critique that aspect other than to say that I quite like the illustrator’s work.  I wish it had been a full comic instead of an illustrated short story.)

**Give Your Story Identity**

“Why We Fight: An Axanar Short Story,” written by Jonathan Lane and illustrated by Mark McCrary, opens in the 602 Club on Earth.  The story never leaves this location.  Of course, a single location is not necessarily to a story’s detriment.  Hemingway’s [“Hills like White Elephants”](http://faculty.weber.edu/jyoung/English%202500/Readings%20for%20English%202500/Hills%20Like%20White%20Elephants.pdf) takes place at a bar on a railway platform and it’s the sort of story that you feel in your chest long after you’ve finished it.

I mention the single location, however, because it (along with other elements) influenced how I understood the text as a reader.  I didn’t visualize this story as narrative prose; I visualized it as a stage play.  My interpretation is not unique to me.  Lane wrote in a blog post on [22 February 2018](https://fanfilmfactor.com/2018/02/22/coming-next-week-the-first-ever-axanar-short-story-written-by-me/) that what he wrote was similar to a short stage play, making it a poor candidate for conversion into a comic book.

Let’s look at why this text inspires both the author and a reader to draw similar conclusions about its identity.

Short plays—such as ten-minute, one acts—are almost always set in a single location.  They’re written for quick changes and minimal sets.  (By way of example, [here’s ](http://www.10-minute-plays.com/comedies/lightning_rod_man.html\))an adaptation of a Melville short story that I particularly love.)

A more compelling indication of the story’s identity is its style.  It’s almost entirely dialogue, with little narrative description.  The story opens

> **At a table…**
> 
> RON: _Ajax_
> 
> MATT: _Apollo_
> 
> THALEK: _Ares_
> 
> DARIA: _Artemis_

The formatting is faithful to the original.

There’s no description to set the scene such as in “Hills like White Elephants.”  Presumably, the author expects the reader to be familiar the interior of the 602 Club.  If one comes to the text without that Trekkie background, however, one will have to create a bar setting out of whole-cloth.  That’s the sort of thing a set-designer or director would expect to do: take the lack of specificity as license to do whatever they wished.

The sense of reading a play is heightened by dialogue formatting.  It doesn’t go

> “ _Ajax_ ,” Ron said.

And so forth as one might expect from prose.  The capitalized name, colon, dialogue _is_ standard play formatting, however.  What little action exists reads as stage direction, e.g. “long, quiet stare” given its own line between lines of dialogue.

I find this lack of commitment to an identity somewhat frustrating.  It has illustrations, but it’s not a comic book or graphic novel.  It’s formatted like a stage play, but it’s called a short story.  It could be a dialogue-only short story, but it has those stage directions.  It’s a story with an identity crisis.  And if form or structure is a critical component to the success of story, this arrangement does not bode well for it.

How do I even read a story like this?  Do I read it as dialogue-only prose short story?  Do I read it as a stage play?

Good thing both share many traits because I just don’t know.

I do want to take a minute to say that dialogue-only stories exist.  The Newberry Medal-winning author Avi wrote a children’s novel called [“Who was that Masked Man, Anyway?”](https://www.amazon.co.uk/Who-Was-That-Masked-Anyway/dp/0380721139) entirely in dialogue.  (Amazon link for those who want to take a peek.)  There’s a hilarious short story called [“They’re Made Out of Meat,”](http://www.terrybisson.com/page6/page6.html) by Terry Bisson, which is also crafted only out of dialogue.  Finally, there are many contests for [dialogue-only short stories](http://www.bartlebysnopes.com/contests.htm).  The linked one was just the first Google hit.  So I hope I’ve convinced you that the format of this story alone does not mean it is not a short story.

**You Need a Strong Start for a Short**

The story opens with names.  Lots and lots of names.  There are four characters—Ron, Matt, Thalek, and Daria—and they’re listing a bunch of Greek and Roman gods.  The only way we know who these people are is from the illustration.  Alas, it’s difficult to tell who is who.  One can assume Thalek is the alien.  Yes, yes.  I know it’s an Andorian.  Ron, Matt, and Daria are up for grabs, however.  Sure, you could say the female name goes with the female character, but that strikes me as quite gender normative for a Trek story, particularly now that we have a female Michael in the canon.  Anyway, even if you do take the gender normative interpretation, which one is Ron and which one is Matt?

What might have been useful here is if the illustrator had drawn the characters left to right in the order they spoke.  This would quickly establish the characters for the reader in the absence of description.

In any case, they’re listing a bunch of ship names.  We know they’re ship names from the start because they’re italicized.  Unless they’re just the names of gods being spoken with unusual emphasis.  Daria doesn’t actually say they’re ship names until page two.

Short stage play or short story, four talking heads listing ship names is not an engaging beginning.  When you have very limited space to tell your story, you need to establish your location, plot, and characters very quickly.  In “Why We Fight” the location is established by the illustrations.  That leaves the text to established character and plot.

A list of names does not do this.  You could take any character name and switch it with any line of dialogue, and nothing would change about any of the characters.  If you cover the characters’ names with a sheet of paper, you can’t tell who is saying what.  They have no voice and no personality.

Worse, the list of names doesn’t provide a sense of story or plot.  Take a look at “They’re Made Out of Meat.”  The first five lines read 

> “They’re made out of meat.”
> 
> “Meat?”
> 
> “Meat.  They’re made out of meat.”
> 
> “Meat?”
> 
> “There’s no doubt about it.  We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through.  They’re completely meat.”

Seriously, just go read the whole thing.  It's really short.  And hilarious.  And makes you think deep thoughts.  It does what a good SF story should.

In these five lines Bisson establishes two characters.  The first is a scientist-like character.  The second is likely a superior.  The first is making a report.  The second disbelieves it.  The kicker is that fourth line, which tells the reader that this story is an alien abduction story…from the aliens’ point of view.  More than that, this story sets up interesting subtextual conflict: that the aliens are not “meat” and that humans are.  The word “meat” also implies something non-living, something non-sentient, which heightens the tension and makes the reader wonder how it will be resolved.

What do we learn in the first five lines of “Why We Fight”?  Five ship names.

There’s a little banter about one of the officers forgetting a ship name and a little more about one ship bearing the Roman name in place of the Greek, but there’s no tension here.  Why not?  Well, there’s no tension because there are no stakes.  There’s no goal and no conflict.  There’s no subtext.  It’s a list of names.

Now, if the author really wanted to work in ship names and also insert some stakes, conflict, goals, and subtext into the story then it would’ve been possible.  Just make it quiz night.  Your segregated tables of Andorians, Tellarites, Vulcans, and Humans all battling over nerd questions.  As they get tipsier, they get less diplomatic.

That could’ve been an engaging circumstance for the characters (or actors, if you read this as a play) to work with.  There's a story there.  Alas, we must play it safe.


	2. "Why We Fight" (p. 2)

We’re about a page into the story—if this were a stage play it would be forty-five seconds to a minute of stage time—and we don’t have a strong sense of the things that make a story go.

We do, however, get Daria’s unintentionally hilarious “Pulse you, Decker!” in response to Matt’s light ribbing about her knowledge of Greek and Roman gods.

Oh, hey.  It’s a young Matt Decker.  So nice to know that now…after we’ve spent a page with the character.  Still don’t know which one he is in the illustration though.  Maybe I’m just a failure as a Trekkie.

The reason why I say “pulse you” is unintentionally hilarious is because it feels like a rough stand-in for the more adult “fuck you.”  It’s just not a very good stand-in.  At best, you’ve got something akin to [calling a rabbit a smeerp](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CallARabbitASmeerp).   (This is when a sci-fi or fantasy author wants to do a little world-building by substituting a sci-fi-y or fantasy-y word for a common one.  It’s not a perfect parallel here, but it’s close.)  At worst, you’ve bowdlerised your story, watering it down instead of telling it differently from the start.

Here’s why the phrase stands out as not belonging: it’s unnatural for the context.  The word “pulse” is not one that can be spat out easily due to the medial vowel/consonant combination.  You end up swallowing half the word as you say it.  Try it.  Compare “Pulse you” to your own favorite phrases.

When writing dialogue, it’s imperative that it always sound like something a person would say given the circumstance.

Anyhow, juxtaposed with my new favorite not-quite-profanity, is our first glimpse of a Deep Theme, which all Star Trek stories are contractually obligated to have.

> DARIA: Pulse you, Decker!  When I signed up for Starfleet, I figured I was gonna EXPLORE alien societies…not shoot at them.
> 
> **[Long, quiet stare.]**
> 
> MATT: Yeah, I think that’s true for most of us.

The theme isn’t quite in the subtext, but it does feel like something two characters would say.  That works for me.

Thalek wants to fight, of course, because let’s go ahead and play right into the Trek stereotype for an Andorian.

We can’t stay with the theme for long, however.  It gets in the way of valuable time to nerdgasm over the Ares-class ships.  Yup, we traded character building for information on how many Ares ships are in the fleet and how many are in drydock and, of course, what their names are.

This exposition is just handy set-up.  What we really need to know is that one of the new ships will have an all-Andorian crew, which Thalek will be joining. Part of me feels like the last page and a half of names was solely to set up this reveal.  Why is this reveal important?  It allows the story to segue into the next Deep Theme: racism in the Federation.

Ron asks Thalek why he spends social time with humans instead of Andorians.  Thalek is somewhat confused by the question, so Matt explains.

> MATT: What he means is that most of the crews stick with their own species.  Look around.  The Tellarites drink with other Tellarites.  The Andorians drink with Andorians.  The Vulcans…well, I don’t think they even drink, but they certainly don’t socialize with us.

Either Thalek is remarkably oblivious—to the point he doesn’t even notice that everyone else in the bar self-segregates—or we have an [“As you know, Bob”](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AsYouKnow) moment.  The “As you know” moment occurs when two characters know something, but the audience doesn’t.  The storyteller desperately wants the audience to know the thing, but can’t work out how to show it or work the information into the story naturally.  So the author has one character tell the other the thing they both know.  It’s always an awkward exchange.

Thalek points out that humans aren’t any better and is rewarded with “looks of embarrassment.”

This sort of description may be useful to a film or stage director, but doesn’t go far in establishing character.  Thus far, the three humans are interchangeable.  People don’t react the same way when embarrassed.  Maybe one won’t make eye contact with Thalek, maybe another blushes.  Maybe another wasn’t even paying attention.  That’s the value of more standard prose: you can give more description here and there, fleshing out the characters.  Sure, it’s possible to do it solely with dialogue, but your characters need strong voices for it to work.


	3. "Why We Fight" (pp. 3-4)

The conversation continues with the old Alien Misunderstands A Human Idiom And Then Takes Something Literally joke.  Because we want to emphasize Thalek is an alien.  It’s not like he hasn’t spent years living and working closely with humans, after all.  This is humor that works far better on screen than on the page.  It’s all in the timing and delivery.  Without those things, it just comes off as cliché.

Thalek then helpfully informs the reader that the different species “don’t get many opportunities to interact with each other” because “without warp-six capable starships, it can take weeks or even months just to get from one star system to the other.”  Because people who live and work in space—and are, in fact, the best of the astronauts of the age—don’t understand what their own technology can do and how it influences interspecific relationships.  Yeah, it’s _another_ “As You Know, Bob.”

Daria follows it up with a “why aren’t we all just getting along because we have a common enemy” statement and, out of the blue, Ron says

> RON: I don’t want to get to know each other…

Daria acts appalled and Ron doubles down.  Also, we get another “pulse you” and the context confirms that it’s meant to be “fuck you.”  Yeah, I say “fuck.”  That’s the joy of being an adults.  (I know, I know.  This was a choice [made to respect the beliefs of the illustrator](https://fanfilmfactor.com/2018/02/22/coming-next-week-the-first-ever-axanar-short-story-written-by-me/).  That’s a good choice.  A better choice would have been to rework the characterizations and circumstances so the dialogue would be more natural.  It may not be affecting the story too much, but it’s choking the characters.)

Daria helpfully informs the reader that Ron is drunk as he launches into a tirade about…everyone, really.  He’s downright xenophobic, which is a bit of a problem for someone who belongs to an organization with a mission statement that includes “seeking out new life and new civilizations.”  It makes one wonder why Ron wanted to be in Starfleet in the first place.  He’s not down with the military angle, and he doesn’t seem to be down with the rest of Starfleet’s job either.

Here’s the thing.  It comes out of nowhere.  There is no indication leading up to this point that Ron is xenophobic.  There’s also no indication that he’s reached his limit on alcohol.  He just flips.  The inconsistency doesn’t do the story any favors.  Instead of a sense of rising action and tension running through the conversation to this point, we get a conflict tacked on.  It’s a false tension, as if the author belatedly remembered that something is supposed to happen in the story and so threw something in.

This is why _showing_ , either through subtext in dialogue or through specific description, is so critical to a story.  The writer might see the slow build in his or her head, but if it doesn’t make it onto the page then the reader does not.

Ron works his way around to criticizing the Vulcans.  He more or less repeats Captain Archer’s complaints about them.  If you’ve watched ENT, you know his general view.  They’re arrogant, don’t share technology, and so on.

Daria and Matt take the opportunity to talk about their ancestors who worked with members of the Archer family.  It looks like they might be trying to change the subject—in a diehard Trekkie-friendly way—but the tactic feels out of place.  It doesn’t feel out of place because it’s not what people do, but because it strains suspension of disbelief.  We have two officers in a massive organization, and both have ties to canon characters?  When did the Trek universe get so small?  (I have this problem with official Trek as well.  It’s OK to have a character that’s not associated with a canon character.  Really.  Maybe a tall order for fan fiction though, which would be a fair counter argument.)

Ron’s on a roll, flipping out about withheld technology, namely weapons.  I can’t imagine why a species devoted to peace and logic would be reluctant to provide weapons for a war.

> RON: But they held back the weapons!!! Why?  YOU HEAR ME, YOU POINTY-EARED HOBGOBLINS?

Remember, the more exclamation points there are, the more strongly readers will feel emotion.  I see it on Twitter so it must be true.

What really doesn’t work for me about this line, however, is the last sentence.  Again, it comes to characterization and understanding subtext.  Yes, “pointy-eared hobgoblin” is technically a canon phrase, a favorite of McCoy’s in TOS.  But in order to understand the phrase, you have to understand McCoy and Spock’s relationship.  They aren’t enemies.  They’re frequently philosophically opposed—McCoy represents the id or heart and Spock represents the superego or mind—but they are ultimately friends with respect for each other.  One can’t exist without the other, most literally in Star Trek III.  Yes, McCoy may be angry with Spock when he uses the phrase, but there’s affection and respect beneath it.  It’s not an epithet.  To see it used as one is jarring to say the least. 

Yes, call-backs in fan works can create a sense of connection to the original universe.  To work, however, they must be used with a full understanding of the original use.  (By way of another example, the use of “dunsel” in “don’t be a dunsel” on the previous page fails in the same way.  In TOS “dunsel” does not equal “dunce” or “idiot.”  It means someone who has been made redundant.  It doesn’t work in this context.)

Ron keeps it up, calling the Vulcans “green-blooded cowards” and using plenty of exclamation points and question marks for emphasis so that we know he’s _really_ angry.  Because we don’t get any description.  Given how little subtext and characterization the dialogue carries, this is a significant flaw in the story.

The dialogue further suffers from being on the same level.  In stage, film, and, yes, prose, there’s just you need variation to hold the audience’s attention.  If you have a character who is just angry all the time, it quickly gets dull.  The character needs to move between emotional states.  Ideally, the other characters change tactics as well to keep the tension shifting.  There’s none of that here.  It’s just angry, angry, angry.  Ron should seek therapy.  And stop drinking.

We also haven’t seen any choices or actions thus far.  There’s no real act structure to this story.  Even shorts have a beginning, a middle and an end that are driven by character choices.  None of the characters has been faced with a choice or made a decision.  This strikes me as far more of a rough scene than a complete story.

I know which one he is now though because an illustration shows a blonde officer shaking his fist at some Vulcans.  Would’ve been nice to know that sooner than halfway through the story.


	4. "Why We Fight" (p. 5)

Page five gives us our first interesting characterization in the story.  Yes, it’s two pages before the end of the story.  What we get is Ron’s motivation.  It turns out his sister was on a ship that was destroyed by Klingons.  A Vulcan ship was present, but didn’t come to its aid.

> RON: You could have saved the crew of the _Tecumseh_!  They were being decimated by the Klingons!! The _Nike_ was the first ship to arrive at Altair VI.  But instead of engaging the Klingons, you held back.  WHY???  My sister was on that ship, and you sat back and didn’t fire a shot!  You cowards hid behind a stupid moon!!!  WHY????  Why didn’t you engage sooner?  WHY DID YOU WAIT???

I’d ask some questions of this passage, but I fear question marks are on backorder with Amazon.  There’s only one exclamation point left, so order now.  (More are on the way.  Expected delivery time: one month.)

Snark aside, that, right there, is solid motivation for a character.  (OK, I kind of take issue with [fridging ](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/StuffedIntoTheFridge)a woman, but it’s in the grand tradition of fiction.  Especially comics.    Essentially, this is when a character exists to be brutalized or killed off solely to provide motivation for the protagonist.  In the Bad Old Days, the character tended to be female.)  At the least, it explains why Ron hates the Vulcans.  Not why he hates everyone else, though.

Ron’s reveal reveals something not only about him, but about this story.  You’ve probably suspected it already.

There is no central character thus far.

We have four interchangeable officers.  Ron stands out the most because he’s been given the most development.  He has a backstory –something that actually influences how he sees and interacts with the world.  Unfortunately, as poignant as his backstory is supposed to be, Ron struggles to resonate with the reader.  The reason for this is because he hasn’t been developed prior to this point.  There’s nothing that allows us to empathize with him or to see ourselves in him.  Before we can care that he’s been deeply affected by the war—before we can meditate on the horrors of war through the character—we need to care about the character.

These four characters, poor Ron included, are merely setting the stage for another.  It is literary throat-clearing, or the pre-writing one does and then throws away because you always start as late in the story as possible.

The central character, introduced two pages before the end, is Garth.

How do we know he’s the central character?  He gets the most focus of any of them, whether through his dialogue or his stage direction

Garth interrupts Ron with “a loud voice” from across the bar.  He must’ve really been enjoying his drink to wait so long before speaking up.  Or maybe he has a good sense of dramatic timing.  I have no idea because there is no description of the action and no illustration to help me out.  For all the reader knows, he poofed into existence. 

Garth answers Ron’s question by saying the reason the Vulcan ship didn’t assist _Tecumseh_ was because of his orders.  Very dramatic.  Very moving.  Garth taking on the burden of all those deaths and Ron’s wrath.  What a Noble Leader.

At least, that’s what the story wants me to believe.

And, of course, in grand [_Axanar_ tradition](https://axanarsporking.wordpress.com/2017/07/12/a-sue-walks-into-a-bar/), Garth’s entry is followed by awe.

> DARIA: Holy…is that who I think it is?
> 
> THALEK: It’s Garth.
> 
> MATT: Captain present!  Ten hut!

Since they haven’t noticed him before now, I’m going to stick with my poofing theory.

Garth singles out Ron—It’s [Ron Tracey](http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Ronald_Tracey), if anyone cares.  I clearly don’t.—and apologizes for the loss of the _Tecumseh_. 

> GARTH:  Lieutenant Tracey, I’m sorry about your sister.  I truly am. 

What a nice sentiment.  Shut up now.

> GARTH:  We lost 184 valiant men and women in that battle…but it could have been more.

ABORT! ABORT. ABORT.

Sorry.  Ran out of exclamation points.

> GARTH: I gave the Vulcans on the _Nike_ the order to wait behind that moon until the rest of their squadron could arrive.

Well, this fan fiction nailed the characterization of Garth when compared to _Axanar_.  Garth may be speaking sympathy words at Ron, but he’s not genuinely grieving with him.  Garth’s concern isn’t to offer comfort to someone who has lost and feels that loss deeply.  Garth’s concern is with justifying himself.  It doesn’t help that Garth used a loud voice to tell everyone he ordered the Vulcan ship to hold position.  That makes it look like he’s proud of his choice, not confident.

A grieving person doesn’t care about 184 people; he only cares about one.  And a grieving person doesn’t care who gave the order that the ship wait; he only cares that it wasn’t where he saw it needed to be.  Garth might be saying “I’m sorry” on the surface, but subtextually he’s saying “your sister didn’t matter.”  Needs of the many sounds good, unless the one is your own spouse, sibling, parent, or child.  It might be something someone can say to comfort themselves, but it is not something an outsider should ever say. 

If you are ever offering comfort to a grieving person, don’t be like Garth.  Garth is a dunsel.  (If you need information on grief, check out [this Youtube video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGbI7zn2UV0).  SFW)

The author is, of course, trying to portray Garth as a Leader who Makes Hard Decisions and Feels Those Decisions Deeply.  Unfortunately, the subtext is working against this portrayal.  Go figure.  We finally get some good dialogue subtext, and it takes the character in the wrong direction.

Garth, in true Garth-style, gets out the jackhammer to start drilling through bedrock.  Ron begs to know why, saying _Tecumseh_ “had no chance against the Klingons.” 

> GARTH: And neither did the _Nike_ , son…not alone.  Over half a dozen D-6 cruisers came out of warp to ambush the _Tecumseh_.  Had the _Nike_ gone in before our other ships arrived in the system, it would have been a blood bath…and it would have cost us one of Starfleet’s most advanced warships.

OK, keep in mind that Garth only met Ron four lines ago—didn’t even know his name.  He’s calling Ron “son.”  That’s not paternal in this context, it’s inappropriate.  Especially given that Garth in _Axanar_ does not have a habit of referring to random crewpeople as “son.”  There’s no relationship between him and Ron that would justify such a familiar term.  Ron shouldn’t be comforted by this.  He should be angered.

Pulse you, Garth.  Pulse you.

Also, he’s talking to a grieving man in public.  Way to let Ron continue to humiliate himself by falling apart in front of a whole bar.  You just know everyone would be watching Garth the Great talking to a drunk lieutenant who’s falling apart.  That’s what friends and father figures do, you know.  And good leaders too.

Ron protests that they lost a ship and crew.

Garth doubles down on the subtext, saying at least it wasn’t two.  The way he says it is stunningly Kirk-like.

> GARTH:  But not two, Mr. Tracey!  Not even an Ares-class could have held off that many Klingons!

I’m actually impressed.  Of course, Kirk used that cadence usually only when saying something inspiring, which I’m not sure this is.

Now, this is a nice bit of conflict since both characters have equally valid perspectives.  The problem is that it is supposed to portray Garth as a suffering leader who feels those losses and only manages to show him as someone who doesn’t know how to talk to a grieving person.  Someone who is more concerned with himself and how he’s perceived than with the suffering of others.

Perfect  _Axanar_ Garth.


	5. "Why We Fight" (pp. 6-7)

Apparently, Garth is distressed by the conversation because he has to close his eyes and compose himself.  Truly, I feel for the man.  If only the action wasn’t divorced from the character the dialogue showed me.  When you’re writing a character, you have to keep the two consistent with each other less you inadvertently create something you didn’t intend.

He gives a little speech on the nature of war, talking about how it isn’t fair or clean but rather is “the ugliest and most daunting test” Earth has ever faced.  I guess there was neither a Eugenics War nor a World War III in this timeline.  I mean, according to _Axanar_ , Earth hasn’t been attacked yet—if I recall correctly—so that’s probably doing better than something that killed[ six hundred million people](http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/World_War_III) according to canon.   Sure, it could be worse, but it isn’t yet.  Garth might just be a bit of a drama queen. 

Anyway, he finishes with a statement that every choice made will have a cost due to the nature of the Klingons.

Ron isn’t buying it, of course, since he’s, you know, grieving.  He’s not interested in abstractions or the big picture.  All he sees is his sister—burned, hypoxic, crushed, vaporized, any number of ways for an NPC to die in Trek-verse.  She was a medic of some sort. 

Garth still doesn’t get it, but that’s to be expected from a Sue.  The only valid perspective is his own. 

> GARTH:  Look, I know most of us didn’t sign up to be warriors.  That’s not what Starfleet’s about.  But we have to prove that we can do what we need to do to defend the Federation…no matter the cost.

It’s easy to sacrifice other people’s lives, Garth.  Especially when you don’t know who they are.  Again, it’s an interesting dynamic.  Garth is thinking in the abstract and Ron of the individuals.  Unfortunately, there’s no way to bring Garth back from the subtext and text.  He’s not a caring commander.  He’s a ruthless one, just as ruthless as the Klingons.  That’s a fine characterization, but don’t try to tell me he’s [a father to his men ](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AFatherToHisMen)when you’ve shown me something completely different.

I really like TV Tropes.  Sorry, guys.  I’ll send out search parties for you eventually.

> **[Pause.  Thick silence.  Deep breath.]**

I’m guessing this is Garth.  The story seems to have shifted wholly over to him.  Daria, Thalek, and Matt don’t even exist anymore.  They vanished into the ether.

Garth continues to not offer comfort to Ron, instead making it all about him.  Truly, it has to be read to be believed. 

> GARTH: That order…and the destruction of the _Tecumseh_ …will haunt me for the rest of my life, Mr. Tracey.  I see those faces and hundreds like them every night when I wake up from my nightmares.

Yeah.  He goes there.  When a real person who is not a narcissist or socially inept offers comfort to a grieving person, he or she does not make it about him or herself.  Yeah, I know, I know.  The author wants to give a hint of the PTSD that _Axanar_ was allegedly going to tackle.  But this doesn’t make Garth look heroic or traumatized.  It makes him look self-involved.  He’s busy nailing the planks together and trying to figure out how to get himself up on that cross. 

> GARTH:  One day when you’re a captain—and I hope you will be—I pray you never have to make the decision of who gets to live and who has to die.  I hope that, by the time you have a ship of your own, that there is peace in the Federation and we can all return to simply being explorers.

Oh, and let’s top it off with a little passive aggression. 

It’s truly strange that the most subtext laden passages in this work run so strongly against the stated character traits.  Garth Sue is stated to be selfless, but is selfish.  Garth Sue is said to be traumatized, but is playing at martyrdom.  It’s what happens when authors fear giving their characters real flaws or weaknesses.  Flaws appear anyway, and they’re not the ones the author might have chosen.

Garth then makes a little speech about coming together to win the war.  It’s long, so here’s the end.

> GARTH: Someday this blasted war will be over.  It HAS to end, and we HAVE to win.  There is no alternative for us.  And when that finally happens, we’ll be left with what we’ve been fighting for this entire time: the United Federation of Planets.  Don’t tear apart the very thing that we have been risking and sacrificing our lives to preserve.  Do you understand, Lieutenant?

Ron does, of course.  That’s what happens around Garth Sue.

Garth then sends everybody back to their quarters, but before he leaves, Ron toasts to all of the species he disparaged mere minutes of stage/screen time before. 

That’s just pulsing insulting.  You want me to believe that Garth was able to turn Ron’s xenophobia around with one inspiring speech when the root of that xenophobia is a painful familial loss?  Really? _Really?_   You want me to believe Garth cares about Ron when he a.) explained away Ron’s agony instead of grieving with him, b.) made it all about him and his choices, c.) switched the topic to something less painful, and d.) got all passive aggressive with the whole “I hope you don’t have to make the same choices I did” subtext?  Really?  _Really_?

Yeah, no.  I’m not buying it.  The only way for this to work is if Garth Sue is warping reality around himself.  Characters aren’t allowed to act like human beings because the Sue can’t be wrong.

But we can’t just end with Ron’s miraculous transformation, which is a natural ending.  Oh, no.  We have a little coda. 

> SONYA:  That was quite the speech, Kel.  You trying for Ramirez’s job?

I forgot.  Even when he’s done something so reprehensible and emotionally manipulative to a grieving subordinate, Garth Sue needs to be told how awesome he is.  I am not buying it at all.  You showed me something far less wonderful than “quite the speech.”  You can’t just tell me now that it was awesome.

**Meta-Captain Alexander: I was drunk, OK?  Don’t do tequila shots with Vulcans.**

When Garth nobly says he doesn’t want the job, although you know he loves the ego stroking, she continues.

> SONYA: Well, your words do lead to actions.  I admire that.  I think you really reached that young officer.

Only by authorial intervention.  Not because he was actually good at something.  Just have to get a little more ego stroking in there, don’t we?

She then asks Garth how he intends to win the war. 

> GARTH:  Sit down, Sonya, and order a drink.  I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.

**Meta-Captain Alexander:  Too late.**

I started off being as generous as possible with this scene—it doesn’t have the structure to be a short story.  From the point Garth entered stage left, I lost that generosity.  Why?  Because what I was being told about the character and what I was being shown were two entirely different things.  Moreover, the character I was being shown was no hero.  He was a vile man.  That’s where it lost my good will.  Don’t give me a narcissist and claim he’s a saint.  Don’t give me a Sue and claim he’s a person.

But the characterization and voice were right in line with the feature script I reviewed, so good job.  That doesn’t come easily to every fan fiction writer.


End file.
